


The Words Left Unsaid

by ll_again



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ll_again/pseuds/ll_again
Summary: ...that we never needed to say.100 Ways to Say 'I Love You' as 221Bs.





	1. “Pull over.  Let me drive for awhile.” - Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across [this list](http://blondetins.tumblr.com/post/125868124867/100-ways-to-say-i-love-you) on Tumblr, and decided to challenge myself and do them all as 221Bs (and Sherlolly, ofc). I love the 221Bs because it's fun to see how much you can cram into tiny little drabbles.
> 
> The rules I decided on are:  
> 1) The person saying the 'I love you' has to alternate.  
> 2) Can't reuse the 'b' word.
> 
> I'm trusting you guys to keep me honest, especially with that last one.
> 
> It's my intention to scribble these out in between other things, so they'll likely be updated sporadically. Rating might go up or warnings might change with later installments; I make no guarantees. ^.~

"Pull over, Molly. I can drive."

"No, it's fine," Molly said, eyes fixed on the road.

The traffic on the M4 was appalling, prompting Sherlock to fire off a scathing text to big brother 'suggesting' that next time he wanted out of a family dinner, he could have the courtesy to wait for he and Molly to leave the city before manufacturing a disaster. For some reason neither Holmes sibling could fathom, Molly adored visiting her in-laws. Not even Mycroftian engineering could keep her away.

"You wince every time you brake," Sherlock said. He didn't need to deduce why – it was circled in red on the fertility calendar on the fridge. "Pull off here."

Face the color of milk, Molly didn't argue any further, and navigated off the highway so they could switch. "This isn't the way back to the M4," she said when Sherlock got them back on the road.

He reached over and cupped Molly's shoulder. "Gonna make a quick stop," he said. A minute later, he pulled into a parking lot.

"Oh, bless you," Molly sighed at sighting the Boots logo.

Sherlock unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over the center console to drop a kiss on Molly's lips. "Right. Midol. Anything else? Chocolate? Chips?" he asked, pointing to the chippy next door.

Molly's eyes sparkled with gratitude. "Both?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno about you guys, but for me (and Molly) driving while cramping is torturous.


	2. "It reminded me of you." - Molly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock are being hard-headed over in chapter 3 of Matchmaker, Matchmaker (400 words just to get them to smootch! I swear, this is the slowest slow burn ever.) so boy did I ever need a break from that. Which means you get one of these.

It was only luck that Molly saw the tail of his ridiculously dramatic coat disappearing in the direction of the elevators. She didn't stop to think before rushing after him.

"Wait!" she called out as she skidded around the corner. "Mr Holmes."

Although she'd seen him four times since she'd started at Barts, she'd only interacted with him once. Over a corpse, appropriately, and consisting of a brief introduction followed by the most astounding thirty seconds of her life: fifteen spent in contemplation of the body, and the rest in rapid delivery of a conclusion that had taken an hour to confirm via autopsy. 

He turned just as she reached him. "Sherlock, please." Squinting at her, he said, "Dr...?"

"Hooper. Call me Molly." She took a breath, a bit winded by her dash. "I – sorry – I have something for you." He looked bored, and Molly flushed. "It's a liver. From a cancer patient."

"So glad to know that cancerous organs remind you of me."

Molly couldn't tell if he was joking or offended, but she soldiered on regardless. "The liver isn't cancerous. But your blog said that you're interested in the effects of poisons and this was a chemo patient, so-" Realizing she was babbling, Molly bit down hard on her lip. "Sorry."

"No, actually, that's…" Sherlock ventured a smile, "brilliant."


	3. “No, no, it’s my treat.” - Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upping the rating because Sherlock gets a little suggestive in this one. ^.~

A wedding. A broken engagement. Three slaps. A four minute exile. Co-godparenting. A funeral. Near kidney failure. A secret sister. A phone call that nearly broke them.

A kiss that put them back together.

All things that happened between the first time Sherlock Holmes asked Molly Hooper out for chips and the second.

Sherlock folded his arms behind his back, bouncing on his toes with visible impatience as he waited for Molly to climb out of the cab. "Yes, yes," he muttered under his breath while Molly spoke to their driver. "Lovely day. Thank you for not crashing. Come _on_ , Molly."

The last bit was not exactly whispered, and Molly's sparkling brown eyes met his with a quelling stare. But she did – _finally_ – step out.

Sherlock snatched up her hand, tucking it into his elbow as he led them across the pavement to his favored chippy. "Slow down," Molly said with a laugh, skipping along to keep up with his longer legs.

"Hurry up," he countered, pushing the door open. "It's my treat."

"Thanks. But there's really no rush."

Sherlock ordered, then peeked at her sideways. "There is a bit. I'm supposed to buy you dinner first. Aren't I? That's what people do."

Molly's mouth rounded into an 'o' and a blush bloomed over her cheeks.

They left the chips behind.


	4. “Come here.  Let me fix it.” - Molly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a bummer. :(
> 
> On the plus side, I've decided that all of these belong in the same universe, so they do get a happy ending eventually.

"So. Good speech," Molly said, laced with humor.

Sherlock turned, noting that she had come from the door where Janine had disappeared to 'freshen up' before their dance practice. (Odd turn of phrase that women used for their biological needs. Sherlock preferred Molly's style of bluntness.)

"Thank you," Sherlock demurred. "It was alright, wasn't it?"

His attempt at humility was met with a snort. "At least you got to stop a murder."

Quite involuntarily, Sherlock broke into a grin. Molly returned it, then shifted towards the ballroom.

"So. Tom," Sherlock said, halting her retreat. "He's very..."

"Don't," Molly replied, harshly.

The tone of the invective – not, for once, directed at him – invited interrogation, but the pinched, weary look in her eyes made him hold his tongue. So Sherlock dipped his head and turned, wordlessly letting her go.

"Wait." Rather than leave, Molly waved him over. Sherlock hesitantly took the two steps to stand in front of her. "Your tie…" She reached for his neck, straightening the offending accessory.

"Okay, I'm ready to- oh!" Janine sang out.

Molly ducked her head, breaking their eye contact, and scurried off with a quick apology. A moment later, Sherlock recovered his smile – though it felt more stretched than the one he'd shared with Molly – and began guiding Janine through a waltz, immersed in the beat.


	5. “I’ll walk you home.” - Sherlock

The assistant stepped into the Path lab as he was tying his scarf around his neck. His latest case solved, Sherlock was more than ready to head home.

"Good night," the young woman said, not looking up from tidying his workstation.

Sherlock frowned, taking note of her bare hands, silently scolding himself. Those weren't lab assistant hands. Med student? No, doctor, he amended, eyes flickering to her face. She was older than he'd originally assumed from her peppy demeanor and wardrobe.

Oh. She was the one who'd done such a precision job on the autopsy. He'd known it wasn't the usual old coot's work.

Sherlock didn't think much about the victims, aside from what information he could glean from them. But this one was lingering in his mind; university student, mugged, which would have been dull except that it was linked to a rash of attacks that Lestrade was desperate to solve. And while this particular mugger was on his way to a cell, Sherlock was well aware that London was rife with violence.

"Are you off?" The question startled her, but she nodded. "I'll see you home," he said, impatiently dismissing her protest.

Sherlock didn't question his concern for her safety. As they left, he stubbornly deleted a disquieting image of her as the victim, dumped in an alley, broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (That's the last thing Sherlock ever deletes about Molly Hooper.)


	6. “Have a good day at work.” - Molly

The door clicked quietly shut behind her, a fitting punctuation to Molly's parting statement. They were the first words uttered in the flat all morning.

Their normal routine – sharing the single sink in a well-rehearsed ballet, groggily brewing tea and grilling toast, shoulders brushing while they ate together at the clean end of the kitchen table – had been carried out in stony silence. Both of them were still stewing from their argument the night before; a stupid one that had been unduly ignited by Sherlock's frustration over a vexing case and Molly's weariness after a long shift.

And then, once the dishes had been cleared, Molly's things gathered, and Sherlock settled into his chair, she'd stopped to kiss him on the cheek and say "Have a good day at work" before leaving.

That too, was a part of their daily routine. But it loosened the uneasiness in Sherlock's stomach when Molly didn't opt to skip it today.

He fetched his phone from his pocket and opened Molly's text thread. For a moment, Sherlock got lost scrolling through the little messages they frequently sent. Most of them were mundane, but they all meant more than the summed definitions of the words.

"I'm sorry too," he texted, folding his hands around the device as he adopted his thinking pose, awaiting an incoming beep.


	7. “I dreamt about you last night.” - Sherlock

Molly smiled into her phone. "And what was I doing in this dream?"

"You brought me a perfect specimen for my renal experiment."

Sitting on the bed, Molly managed to quash a laugh. Well, doing science together practically _was_ an erotic dream for Sherlock.

"Needless to say, I was wholly disappointed to wake up alone," Sherlock continued, his pout clearly articulated.

"I know, this conference was rotten timing," she said, properly apologetic.

Sherlock grunted, agreeing. "We're going on another Sex Holiday when you get back."

This time, Molly couldn't hold back her chuckles. "I think three weeks of marriage might be a little soon for a second honeymoon."

"Hmph," Sherlock said in dissent.

"Although, you did spend most of our first one working…"

"I've told you, I'd no idea the manager was running a prostitution ring when I booked that hotel."

"What it is Mycroft says about coincidence again?" she teased.

"You think I preferred four days in an un-airconditioned police station-"

"No, I-"

"-over spending them in bed with my wife?"

Hearing those words from Sherlock, applied to her, still made Molly tingle. She licked her lips. "I'm home tomorrow."

There was a knock on the door. Frowning, Molly answered it.

"Wasn't soon enough," Sherlock said, pocketing his phone.

Molly stepped back to let him in, grinning fit to burst.


End file.
